


A Sin in Loving Virtue

by Vitreous_Humor



Series: Angel on the Outward Side [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Bad Communication, Bad Sex, Body Weirdness, Body-Shaming, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Shame, Temptations, Twink!Aziraphale, damnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: Crowley wanted to tell Aziraphale that it was probably just fine when the man put his hand on the small of Aziraphale's back, his touch at first light, and then lingering. It was likely in the bag when the man's hand moved slyly from Aziraphale's back to his thigh, and when he started to rub, Crowley almost set the table on fire because it was sothoroughly done.-Crowley may go too fast, but Aziraphale goes too far. One look at how Aziraphale might have started doing Crowley's temptations.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Angel on the Outward Side [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605307
Comments: 20
Kudos: 146





	A Sin in Loving Virtue

_Guildford, 1429_

Crowley figured that Aziraphale would lose his nerve before they left the tavern, and he was sure that Aziraphale would give over before they rented horses. Then he was fairly certain that the angel would call it quits before they made it out of London, and after that he was positive that Aziraphale would back down as they came to the inn hard by Guildford.

“Honestly, Crowley,” Aziraphale said as they dismounted. “I don't know why we didn't just _go_ to Guildford instead of bothering with the horses. It's accounting season for both our respective employers; no one is watching.”

 _Because I wanted to give you plenty of time to blush and to squirm out of this madness angel,_ Crowley thought, narrowly dodging a bite from his horse and then one from Aziraphale's.

“Diligence, angel,” he said instead. “What if our mark had left and started on the road to London early? Then we'd be in Guildford for no reason at all, and me on a schedule.”

“Well, I suppose you know best,” Aziraphale said, even if he did not sound at all like he believed it.

“I do,” Crowley said with confidence. “And what I know is that you are beginning to look a little worried. How're you feeling, Aziraphale? Because believe you me, if you are not one hundred percent ready to take this on, I can't have you doing it...”

The angel had looked so uncertain back in London, but now he gave Crowley an irritated look, straightening his shoulders. Damn it.

“Oh, do stop fussing, Crowley. I said I would do it. And you, you are willing to do a blessing for me in return, and do it properly?”

“Yes,” Crowley said reluctantly, because that was the deal they had made, wasn't it?

“And you have been after me to do this for ages, and I do not see why you are getting cold feet now. I mean, _ages,_ since Arthur's day at _least-”_

_For, like... throwing money in front of ascetics, or whispering ambitious thoughts into the ears of second sons! Not something like this!_

Of course he didn't say it.

“All right, all right, angel, I just wanted to be sure,” Crowley said, and together they went into the inn and took seats in a dim corner.

“There's the mark,” he said, nodding at a bearish, silver-haired man eating alone. He looked well-off, not fantastically wealthy, and by the sword at his side, it was clear that he was used to looking after himself.

Aziraphale regarded the man curiously, like he might have looked at a new sort of windmill or printing press, assessing the possibilities, perhaps slightly dubious as to how it all fit together.

“All right. And my job is to...turn his head with lust?”

Crowley tried not to twitch at the word on Aziraphale's lips.

“Right,” he said, and then in a rush, “And...the further you go, the more of a sure thing it is.”

Aziraphale looked scandalized, and Crowley relaxed. Of course this was where the angel would balk, at the reality of it, with the man sitting not a dozen paces away. Now Crowley could be magnanimous, tell him he didn't have to start with this one, it was quite all right, he could perhaps try the almost-miser next month (and Crowley would be damn sure to look at his assignments more closely in the future).

“Is that what _you_ do?” Aziraphale asked, and there was something odd about his tone, something prickly and strange.

“Me? Well, sometimes, you have to remember, I'm _very_ good at what I do. Mostly all it takes from _me_ is a nod and a wink, really...”

“And I am a novice as such things go. I understand. Well...”

“Angel... You don't _have_ to, I mean...” Crowley cast around desperately, “I mean, _look_ at you.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at that, and even as he felt his stomach sink out from inside him, Crowley floundered forward desperately.

“I mean... I mean, come now. Well-fed, yes. Fancy and good to cuddle, yes. Seductive... rgkk...maybe not?”

“ _Thank_ you for your opinion on the matter,” Aziraphale said in his driest tone. “But as a matter of fact, I have been considering that on our ride out.”

“Uh?”

Aziraphale sighed.

“Crowley. You may think that I'm a little thick sometimes, but I'm not a fool. I understand that when it comes to... the seductive arts... that my current incarnation isn't to the current wider appeal.”

 _Good, more for me,_ Crowley did not say.

“Angel, look...”

Apparently Aziraphale had had enough of Crowley's protest, because he snapped his fingers, and his form changed.

The worst part, Crowley thought in shock, was that it was still Aziraphale. Same stormy blue eyes, same heart-shaped face, same terrible earnestness. His hair was dark now, however, and he had stripped some twenty-odd years from his corporation and a good deal of the padding as well, muscle and fat both. There was something unnerving about seeing the bones of Aziraphale's wrist and the hint of collarbone at his throat, something that was so unlike his angel that Crowley wanted to throw something.

“Now,” he said, in a voice that was still thankfully his own. “Do you have any further objections?”

 _I'm in love with you, and this is going to hurt_ , he did not say.

“This is my arse on the line if you screw up, angel,” Crowley said instead.

To his surprise, a look of fierce determination mingled with something else crossed Aziraphale's face. If Aziraphale was wearing his right face, with the wrinkles and the softness, Crowley would have known what it meant, but with this one, he hadn't a clue.

“You're still going to do that blessing in Nottingham for me, aren't you?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, and he walked over to the man who was oblivious to all of this.

Crowley felt as if he were ready to crawl out of his skin. He watched, hand fisted on his thigh, as Aziraphale walked over to the man, watched the man take a quick look at him, and then a second longer one. With a broad hand, the man gestured for Aziraphale to take a seat next to him, and Crowley heard Aziraphale laugh, a light and sweet sound.

Crowley wanted to tell Aziraphale that it was probably just fine when the man put his hand on the small of Aziraphale's back, his touch at first light, and then lingering. It was likely in the bag when the man's hand moved slyly from Aziraphale's back to his thigh, and when he started to rub, Crowley almost set the table on fire because it was so _thoroughly_ _done_.

He was actually contemplating setting the whole damned place on fire when the man leaned over to whisper in Aziraphale's ear. Crowley couldn't quite see the angel's expression from where he was sitting, but he saw Aziraphale hesitate and then nod.

They rose, and with one hand placed comfortably at Aziraphale's back, the mark started to lead him right by Crowley and up the stairs at the rear of the establishment.

 _No, no, under no_ fucking _circumstances..._

He started to rise, stalking towards them, but Aziraphale must have caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to face Crowley, just a hint of divine anger on his unfamiliar face.

 _Don't you dare,_ that look said, and Crowley fell back into his seat, the breath stunned out of him.

Anger he would have pushed aside, because Aziraphale was a sap, and even if it took him decades to get over a snit, he _did_ eventually get over it. No, there was something else in Aziraphale's face, something that was proud, and stubborn and... protective?

He shook the foolish thought out of his head, gritting his teeth. Just _like_ the angel to take things too far. How very like Aziraphale to not know when to quit.

 _He's an angel,_ Crowley thought. _He can't carry this through. He's not made for it. I'll just... I can come along, and when he loses his nerve, I'll be there to get him out of it. There. That's the ticket._

Crowley made his way out the door and then surreptitiously opened his wings, gaining the roof with ease. From there, his snake form (rat snake-sized, not titanoboa, though that was certainly a thought) could slither and cling his way along the eaves, which did not sit flush to the walls. It was a matter of moments to find the small room where the mark had taken Aziraphale, and he coiled up in the rafters to wait.

 _Done this before,_ he thought absently. _Only it was rather warmer then, and we were all a bit more innocent, weren't we?_

The mark was seated on the bed, Aziraphale standing between his knees, and somewhat to Crowley's relief, they were both still dressed.

“Try it,” the man said. “You'll like it.”

“And if I don't?” Aziraphale asked.

The man chuckled.

“I'll make sure you do.”

Hesitantly, Aziraphale knelt down between the man's legs, but instead of reaching for his cock, he only leaned forward. The man's hands came up to sit on his shoulders, and he held Aziraphale still as he kissed him. Crowley watched for any stiffness in the angel's body, any flinch, any hint that he was being hurt, but none came, and a different sort of sinking sensation fell over him.

The man kissed Aziraphale sweetly, taking his time with it, kissing his chin, his throat, his closed eyes and of course his mouth. The sound Aziraphale made was surprised and then intrigued, and cautiously, he placed his hand on the man's thigh, rubbing as the man had done to him earlier.

“Shy little thing,” the man crooned. “You're too pretty to be so shy.”

 _He's not pretty!_ Crowley wanted to shout. _You have no bloody clue, this is just... some little doll or puppet, that's not the angel, you wouldn't even be able to cope with the angel as he is-!_

It helped a little to think that that wasn't really Aziraphale kneeling on the ground, not Aziraphale's eyes fluttering closed when the man mouthed his throat and not Aziraphale gasping when the man took his hand and slid it between his still-clothed legs.

For the first time Aziraphale looked a little hesitant, but he drew his breath hard when the man groaned, pressing up into his hand.

“Well, lad? Shall I spend like this, or would you have more?”

Aziraphale considered for a moment, and then glanced up at where Crowley was coiled in the rafters. The look on his face was calm but fiercely determined, and he turned back to the man with a resolute set to his shoulders.

“More,” he said, “only you will have to show me.”

“God's faith, but I could spill on your face and count myself well satisfied...All right. Let's see you, then...”

“But aren't you seeing me now?” asked Aziraphale, perplexed, and then he let out a soft surprised sound as the man tugged lightly on his belt. He stood, a pretty blush on his cheeks as he unbuttoned his doublet and stripped off his hose and his shoes. Then he was bare except for the shirt that fell to mid-hip, and Crowley couldn't stop his eyes from tracing up Aziraphale's pale legs, the tender spot at the nape of his neck. It was the angel and it wasn't. He hated this, and he would die for more.

“ _So_ shy,” the man repeated, and then he stood to pull Aziraphale's shirt over his head, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Aziraphale opened his mouth, probably to protest his shirt's rough treatment, but the man was already turning him around and urging him to brace his hands against the wall.

“There now. You needn't fear, I'll take good care of you, nothing awful for such a beautiful thing...”

Aziraphale's breath had gone high and soft, and he pressed his hands harder against the wall. Crowley helplessly took in the line of his back, the curve of his plump buttocks, the way he shook a little as the man rummaged in his bags. It wasn't _his_ Aziraphale, and there was a part of him that was busily overlaying _his_ Aziraphale over this stranger, looking for plusher hips, thicker, rounder shoulders, more belly of course...

The mark came to stand behind Aziraphale, propping his chin on the angel's shoulder and dropping his hand with proprietary pleasure on his hip before uncorking a small vial of oil and and tipping it over his fingers.

“Only be quiet, and I shall be kind to you,” the man murmured, and Crowley thought that he had better be, or not all the reprimands from Hell would stop him from dropping down and strangling the very life out of him.

Aziraphale nodded, and then he made a sound too soft and wanting to be a groan as the man slicked his fingers down between his legs. Crowley watched with a growing anger as the angel braced himself for the intrusion, shoulders rising up and hips rocking a little, first forward and then as the sensation grew less foreign, back as well.

 _I would be easier with you,_ Crowley thought furiously. _How can you take that? How can you make those noises, as if you genuinely enjoy this?_

The man was murmuring soft things into Aziraphale's ear, sweet flattering things, and Crowley almost forgot himself and hissed out loud when Aziraphale turned to him, chasing a kiss that even from a distance looked desperate.

“Oh, good lad,” the man murmured, “Ready for me, aren't you?”

He didn't wait for Aziraphale's response, instead wiping his hands on a cloth and leading him back to the bed. Crowley was ready for him to bend Aziraphale over and have done with it, but instead the man stretched out on his back, still clothed, and pulled his cock from his trousers.

“Here. This will be easier for you...”

From this angle, Crowley could see Aziraphale's face. He bit his lip, looking the man up and down, and then he nodded. He was surprisingly graceful when he went to straddle the man's thighs, facing his feet, and the man swept possessive hands down his narrow hips and his back before landing on the curve of his ass. Aziraphale's head hung down, and Crowley silently urged him to look up, wanted, _needed_ to see what he looked like just then, if he was flushed with heat, if there were tears in his eyes, if his lips were bitten red.

The mark did something that made Aziraphale's whole body quake, and then he uttered a soft whimpering groan.

“There you are, lad, it's all right, it's fine, I won't hurt you.”

Crowley told himself that the man couldn't hurt Aziraphale in any way that mattered, that he couldn't force Aziraphale into anything he didn't want. He told himself that over and over again because otherwise, he would get caught up in the broken little sounds that Aziraphale was making and the way he shook as he was pulled back on to the man's cock. His dark curls hung in his face, but Crowley could see the red splotched on his throat and spilled down his chest, the way his hands were fisted in the sheets.

“All right, pretty, move now...”

Clumsily at first, and then with more confidence, Aziraphale rocked on the man's hips, head still down and the smallest sweetest little murmurs escaping his lips. There was a kind of desperate prettiness to him like this, and Crowley thanked whatever mercy God might still have had for him that it wasn't Aziraphale's normal form. He wouldn't have been able to stand that; he was barely able to stand _this_.

The mark dug his heels into the straw mattress, and then he was pushing up into Aziraphale's body. That startled Aziraphale enough that he threw his head back with a gasp, and now he was staring directly up at Crowley, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

Crowley thought for sure he would look away again, but instead Aziraphale stared up at him, at first at a loss, and then with a look of growing determination in his eyes. She had absolutely never made a more stubborn angel, and now Aziraphale proved it by deliberately pushing himself back on the man's cock, not just submitting but riding him, jaw set with something enough like passion that Crowley nearly recoiled. He couldn't breathe.

The man groaned abruptly, his fingers digging into Aziraphale's hips so hard that Aziraphale yelped. For a long moment, he forced Aziraphale flush to his hips, spilling inside him and making the angel wince at the deep thrust, and then he was shoving him aside. Crowley hissed with alarmed fury at Aziraphale's sharp pained cry, but it was lost in the mark fumbling with his clothes, a panicked look in his eyes.

“I didn't want that,” the man said, “I've taken vows, my wife, by God, I did not want it-”

“You did,” Aziraphale said, his voice low and hard. “You wanted it, you had it, and who knows what you will want and have tomorrow?”

Crowley felt a chill run down his long spine. _This_ was what Aziraphale would have been as a demon, and he didn't know if it was a thing that could be forgotten once it was learned.

The man shook his head and all but ran out the door, slamming it behind him. Suddenly the demonic arrogance was gone from Aziraphale's face, and he sat up gingerly on the edge of the bed, dragging a corner of the blanket over his naked hips.

“You should come down now,” he told Crowley without looking up. “You needn't hide in the rafters like a useful little brownie.”

Crowley dropped from the ceiling, landing in his human form. He hesitated. There was only a few feet between him and Aziraphale, and it felt like a thousand miles.

“You know I've never been useful a day in my life, angel.”

It didn't win a smile as he hoped it would, but Aziraphale sighed.

“Well?' he asked.

“Well?”

“Well, was that... that is, did I tempt him well enough? Is that enough to be allowed to do your temptations without you fretting your head off?”

Crowley shifted uneasily.

“You go too far, angel,” he said at last. “You probably had him when he put his damned hand on your thigh.”

“I didn't know that for sure, did I? You said the further I went, the more of a sure thing it would be. I didn't...”

Crowley blinked.

“Didn't what?”

“I wanted to do it right,” Aziraphale burst out. “I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't get in-”

He cut himself off.

Crowley stared at him, his heart beating hard in his chest. The feelings twisting inside him were impossible to name. He felt as if he were falling, and who knew how long it would take him to hit the ground this time...

Aziraphale, in the meantime, seemed to get a hold of himself, sitting up straighter, a nearly haughty expression his face. This face was well-suited to it, Crowley thought absently.

“And you thought I couldn't do it, didn't you? You were so doubtful, and it was only a silly little thing anyway.”

“Silly?” Crowley echoed. Something about the way Aziraphale said the word made alarm bells go off in his head.

“Yes, silly. What a _foolish_ thing, after all, to go to Hell for.”

“Well, he's not going to Hell for fucking you,” Crowley said with some asperity. “It's for the oath breaking, the forsworn vows...”

Aziraphale shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was more measured, calmer. He snapped his fingers, and his clothes were back on his body, though he remained seated on the rumpled bed.

“I don't understand,” he said softly, more to himself than to Crowley. “I did not understand before, and I understand even less now.”

Crowley stared at him.

“Aziraphale...”

“What?”

“That... that wasn't, that is, he wasn't your first, was he?”

The look Aziraphale gave him was pure scorn. Crowley felt a rush of relief until he spoke.

“Honestly, Crowley, you know as well as I do that virginity is something _they_ came up with, not us. I have not eaten that dish with sixteen birds stuffed into a bustard yet, and it will not change who I am when I do.”

“But you are,” Crowley realized. “You were. You had never...”

“Well, no. Whoever would I have done it with?”

“Someone who wasn't some doomed prick from Guildford!” Crowley exploded. “Someone who would have taken care, someone who would have-”

 _Touched you, been gentle for you, made you come, marked you and driven you out of your mind with lust. Someone who wouldn't shove you off his cock afterward like you were a piece of trash, someone who would have_ loved _you in your right body..._

“I don't care about that,” Aziraphale said, and now Crowley recognized something glassy in his eyes. There was a brittleness to him that could not take much more, and Crowley hurriedly backed off.

“Sorry, angel,” he muttered. “Dunno what I was thinking. You did a good job.”

“A thank-you would be nice.”

“Yeah, I'm going all the way up to Nottingham for you next week, I know.”

He wasn't going to thank Aziraphale for this. He would rather burn.

“Yes, of course.”

Aziraphale ran his hands down his thighs gingerly, as if remembering how foreign this new body was.

“I really must get changed,” he mumbled to himself, and Crowley nodded tentatively.

“You do that, and after, I'll bring us straight back to London, yes? No need to muck around with horses, we'll go straight back, and then how about if I take you to that Turkish place you like? My treat, s'been a while since we've been there.”

For a moment, Aziraphale only looked at him blankly, and then he smiled, nothing false about it even if it did come a little harder than it usually did. It occurred to Crowley, not for the first time, how much effort it must take to be as delighted as Aziraphale.

“Oh, that does sound rather nice, doesn't it?” he said, pleased. “Just step out for a moment while I take care of this, and then we'll be off.”

Crowley waited outside the door, resisting the urge to pace like a panther in a cage, but the wait was worth it when Aziraphale came out looking like himself again.

“Well, my dear, shall we?”

Crowley snapped his fingers, and when they stepped out into the busy London street, he could tell himself that nothing at all had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> -Aziraphale has absolutely eaten rôti sans pareil, the medieval turducken made with seventeen birds. Preeeeeeeetty sure he's also eaten ortolan. 
> 
> -Been a bit, hasn't it? I'm still working on Venom and Wormwood, and wrote this odd thing to get it out of my head in the meantime.
> 
> -I've been wondering for ages what it looks like when Aziraphale does a temptation. This is one version, I think.
> 
> -If you're looking for a reference for Aziraphale's swapped out body, Michael Sheen as Robbie Ross would do it, I think. I really love a plush Aziraphale, but I wanted to go for a maximum weirdness on this particular encounter, and also because I think Aziraphale's looking for a bit of distance here too, whatever he says. 
> 
> -Yes, Crowley did hurt his feelings a bit with the "Well, look at you!"


End file.
